Constant Vigilance
by ariellane
Summary: A look at the life of Alastor Moody and what drove him. As Mad-Eye-Moody spends a year trapped inside his own truck, he reflects on his years past and the one person who made him who he is today.
1. Chapter 1

The avenger, the persecutor, "one who suffers from divine vengeance." Literally, in ancient Greek, Alastor means "he who does not forget", and for Alastor Moody, this is fitting. For he will never forget — not the price they all paid, nor the man who was responsible for it all. Not the soldiers (for they were, after all, soldiers) who were lost, not the staggering bravery he witnessed, and certainly not the woman who saved him and destroyed him in one fell swoop. No, Alastor Moody would never forget, and that was just the way he wanted it.

Because, after all, without his memories, life trapped in a magical trunk would get dreadfully dull.

The Imperius Curse can only last so long before it begins to weaken, before the accursed can begin to fight it. And "fight" was Alastor Moody's middle name — or at least it should have been. He shifted uncomfortably, his thin, wretched robe leaving him chilled, his graying hair greasy and frizzled. Of course, being trapped in his own trunk meant there wasn't much for him to do; Moody knew how the trunk functioned, and he knew there was no way of getting out, Imperiused or not. Still, there was something maddening about being so utterly out of control, not only of his situation, but also of his mind and actions, Moody reflected, blinking and trying to ignore the strange feeling of an empty eye socket. The Imperius Curse could drive a man mad just as easily as the Cruciatus Curse, though few realized it. Moody had seen countless wizards scoff at the "least powerful" of the Unforgiveable Curses, and he had rolled his eyes (well, his eye), only to see the fools eat their words. Sure, the Imperius Curse didn't make a wizard howl with pain or kill them in an instant; but losing one's free will, after a certain period of time, was torture on a whole different level.

So Moody fought the curse, although it took him a full month of imprisonment to regain control of his thoughts. But once he had, his mind was able to travel back in time and remember back to Marlene McKinnon, the girl he'd loved and lost, and the battle that stole her away from him all those years ago. As long as he could remember Marlene, he could make it through. Because remembering Marlene meant that he knew what he was fighting for: Revenge.


	2. Chapter 2

"ALASTOR! RUN!" It was a steamy July day, and the rising dust from the rubble of the ruined house hung heavy in the humid air. Alastor Moody coughed and sputtered, blood dripping from his nose as he rose to his feet. He had been knocked over by the explosion, and he turned back to where there had, just a moment ago, been a fireplace. He blinked, dazed. He was young; he'd only just been certified as an Auror two years ago, and then the war came. This was not a war of battle lines and cannons, oh no. This was a war of stealth and fear. The kind of war that turned friendships sour and bred darkness. The kind of war where you could be sitting in the home of your best friend, and then suddenly find yourself surrounded by rubble, your right eye swelled shut and your best friend nowhere to be found, her scream still ringing in your ear.

He surveyed the scene; everything was covered in grime and dust, which still swirled around him, clouding his vision. Broken glass and household items were strewn about in disarray. Alastor reached for his wand, turning up the dust with the hem of his robe as he rotated, on alert. His light brown hair was matted down in clumps on his forehead, slicked down by sweat and dirt.

A laugh behind him brought Alastor pivoting around, and his dark eyes widened as a misshapen figure appeared out of the dusty haze. A man with wild eyes and a tattered black robe, the hood fallen back in the blast. Alastor snarled — Dolohov. As a reflex, the Auror had already pointed his wand at Dolohov and had a jinx on the tip of his tongue, when he saw her. Dolohov's arm was around her neck in a deathly vice, and blood was trickling down from the corner of her lip as she struggled to break the Death Eater's grip. Alastor saw the panic in her eyes that must have mirrored his own; as he looked back to Dolohov, the Death Eater grinned, knowing he had them trapped. The dust began to clear, and Alastor could see silhouettes of the other McKinnons fighting against Death Eaters, green and red beams of light flashing through the haze.

"Let her go." It was not a request. Alastor knew what their game was; he knew why they had come. Less than a year ago, Evan Rosier had died by Alastor's wand, and the Death Eaters wanted revenge. They wanted blood. Determined, Alastor took a step toward Dolohov and Marlene, carefully gauging the man's reaction. But Dolohov just smiled that toothy, insane smile. He was furious; he was psychotic.

"You know why we're here," Dolohov snarled. "You know what you did." He was referring to the battle, the one that had occurred less than a year ago, when Wilkes and Rosier had cornered Lily Evans (who had recently become Lily Potter) and tortured her. Alastor had rushed to her aid, but despite every jinx, charm and curse they tried, the pair could not overcome the two Death Eaters. Lily had collapsed, Wilkes had finally been Stunned, but Rosier would not stop fighting. Even after three other Aurors had appeared to help, nothing would stop Rosier, who was spitting curses and lobbing spells at them like rocks.

Finally, just as Rosier was about to blow them all to the high heavens, Alastor found himself ending it all, almost subconsciously, and killing Rosier. The curse fell from his lips involuntarily, and he almost regretted it after. If there had been one thing Alastor thought he stood for, it had been to avoid those Unforgiveable Curses, despite being granted the power to use them by the Ministry two months prior. But there was no going back, and now, Alastor looked at Dolohov, regret etched into his face like the scars he'd received from that battle.


	3. Chapter 3

Above him, the lid of the trunk swung open, and Moody squinted as the daylight blinded him. From above, he saw a mirror of his own visage, twisting grotesquely as the owner reassumed his true identity. Moody scoffed; the idiot had left it too long (again) and found himself out of potion. He must have been brewing it all month, and now it was finished just in time to snatch some more of Moody's hair and reassume his appearance. The wretch didn't bother to come down into the trunk — that would have been foolish. Instead, with a simple _Accio hair!_, Moody grunted and felt the unpleasant tug as a tuft of hair detached itself and flew up to its new master. Moody inhaled deeply, realizing the crisp, cool air smelled of winter. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed since the imposter's last visit, but judging by the meals he brought, it was probably a few months into the school year — December, perhaps?

"Oy! What month is it?" Moody called up to his twin, who was now chugging the electric blue Polyjuice Potion. Moody paused, watching in silence as the imposter shuddered and began convulsing, his face molding like clay to fit a new form — Moody's form. Once the transformation was complete, the doppelganger sneered down at Moody and muttered a single word before slamming the trunk shut.

"February." And Moody was encased in darkness once more.

A thousand Februaries ago, Alastor had been a very different person. As a student at Hogwarts, he was mercurial, but so eager to learn. He poured over books, practicing spells with fervor, hungry for knowledge. He was quiet in classes, but liked well enough by the professors, who were pleased by his calm rationale and determination to succeed. He mostly kept to himself, not caring about the ironclad alliances that were slowly forming, even though he was frequently pestered by both sides of the fight. The Idiots of Walpurgis, or whatever they called themselves, would frequently sneak up on him in the hallways on the way to class, trying to lure him and his "pure blood" into their clique with honeyed words and promises of glory, which later turned to veiled threats after he'd refused. Alastor snorted every time and pushed past them, uninterested. Although, truth be told, the others were just as bad. The Prewett brothers, Dorcas Meadowes, Bones and his sister, boasting about their plans, Gryffindors to the core. Alastor preferred his solitude — that is, until Meadowes' friend started tagging along.

Marlene McKinnon wasn't as bad as the rest of them. Sure, her eyes would glow at the mention of good versus evil, and she was only too willing to believe that there was a point to fighting back when morons like Rosier or the Black sisters taunted them. She was a fiery little Scot, and Alastor couldn't help but appreciate that, coming from Ireland himself. But Marlene didn't get fired up that often, and any other time, she was a sweet, bright girl. Alastor was a little surprised she hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw herself, seeing as she was always point-for-point with him in Transfiguration _and_ Defense Against the Dark Arts.

And slowly, the two became friends. While they were in separate houses, Alastor was pleased to find Marlene had no problem with bobbing over to the Ravenclaw table for lunch, or traipsing with him to the library to study. And as he knew her better and better, Alastor found himself discovering all her little behaviors and phrases and cherishing them. The way she covered her mouth when she laughed. How she always somehow ended up walking next to him, even when they were in a group. The way that, somehow, he found himself surrounded by friends, just through association with her. And as he grew to love Marlene, he found himself drawn to her cause.

"It's getting darker and darker out there," Marlene said to him once, starring out of a trellised window at a starless night sky. She turned to Alastor, her best friend — and, unbeknown to her, admirer — and frowned, her eyes wide with fear. "We have to be ready. Vigilante at all times." She took his hands in hers, as if they were swearing a solemn vow. "So that when the storm breaks, we're there to stop it."

And, with the same seriousness, Alastor promised he would be.


	4. Chapter 4

Dolohov spat, his arm still wrapped around Marlene like a python. Alastor looked to the girl, his heart shattering as he saw a tear slide down her pale, freckled face. They had fought together for two years now, part of this Order that was supposed to restore order. Two weeks ago, he had unwillingly posed for a photo with this Order of the Phoenix, and the gang had cheerfully whooped and hollered, confident in their ability to put an end to this war. But what had they accomplished? Who had they saved? Certainly not the Bones family, who had been murdered just days ago. Alastor was still reeling from the death of Edgar, who presided over one of the first informal meetings Alastor had attended at Hogwarts. Not the family of Muggles they'd found much too late, soulless and ruined. What was the point of the Order, if they couldn't stop Antonin Dolohov from strangling Marlene, wonderful Marlene. Alastor felt his throat close up.

"Let her go, Dolohov," he growled again. "Your fight is with me." Dolohov cackled, as someone behind them let out a piercing scream. Marlene cried out, and Alastor fell apart. This was his fault; he should have been able to protect her, protect all the McKinnons. It was his carelessness and rash decisions that lead to this battle. Now, Marlene was in danger, and all he could do was beg for her to be released.

"Please," he whispered, feeling as small as he did a decade ago. "Don't hurt her."

The green light flashed, and a terrible, terrible scream echoed through the wasted house. A scream that would never cease in Alastor's head, a scream that would keep him awake at night and alert for the rest of his days. One that would remind him to stay vigilant, just as Marlene always warned, because otherwise, you could be sitting in your best friend's living room one moment, and then clinging to her lifeless body the next.


End file.
